


dangerous woman

by n7punk



Series: Outside of the War - She-ra canon stories [3]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Mutual Pining, Pining, Requited Unrequited Love, it's about the yearning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25233400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n7punk/pseuds/n7punk
Summary: Adora has a type. Anyone with eyes can see it, but it is especially clear to Catra, who spends so much time looking, watching, comparing.Tall. Buff. Strong. Practically a living weapon.Not her.If only Catra realized she was picking up on the wrong consistencies.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Series: Outside of the War - She-ra canon stories [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793227
Comments: 64
Kudos: 931





	1. Catra

**Author's Note:**

> For real, Adora has a type and it got me thinking how Adora’s type is Catra, it’s just that Catra doesn’t realize it. I know I say this in every fic with her, but please be aware of how unreliable of a narrator young Catra is – she’s an absolute mess. Adora’s also a bad narrator sometimes just because she’s an idiot. Catra, though, only connects the dots that give her anxiety and sees the things she is afraid of.  
> I've written the whole fic, I just need to edit the other chapters before I post them, so be on the lookout for them soon!

Catra is pretty sure Adora’s first crush is on Lonnie – it is also a crush that lasts, at most, 2 minutes and 48 seconds, according to the training sim’s clock.

It is a brand new kind of training exercise for them and it favours strength – something Catra has to work hard to develop. She is only barely starting to grow some height in her limbs and her body is all lithe flexibility built for agility regardless – she is not meant to catch a mech’s swinging arm and force it away from the hit marker on her chest.

So she goes down, within seconds of the sequence starting, because she had been too worried about how close Adora was getting to the thing to leap out of the way in time. And going down only 23 seconds into the exercise means not only she has failed, but now she can’t help Adora either. Adora turns, yelling “Catra!” all distraught like the mech actually _did_ crush her. The training mech had already been bearing down on her, and with her momentary distraction it raises another arm to bring towards Adora now. Catra opens her mouth to call out a warning, rules be damned, but the sound dies in her throat.

Catra had been so focused on Adora, and then getting her ass kicked, and then Adora again, that Lonnie seems to come out of nowhere. Whereas Catra’s body was dragging behind, Lonnie had hit her growth spurt the earliest of the girls, filling out and shooting up alongside Rogelio while the rest of them played catch up. She had strength, she had height, and she had _muscle_. She steps between Adora and the mech, raises both her arms, and grabs the metal appendage, struggling for a minute against its weight. Adora turns her head, looking up at Lonnie with her eyes sparkling as Lonnie forces the arm away from them both.

“She could only do it because its power was tuned down for the exercise,” Catra will scoff later.

“Still, it was so badass!” Adora will respond, smiling while Catra silently fumes.

Luckily, Catra does not have to worry about it for long. Before the end of the exercise Lonnie gets her ass handed to her by a low sweep from the same rogue appendage that had hit Catra, and Catra doesn’t even try to hide her laugh as Lonnie goes flying out of the arena. _That_ will break the magic. The light in Adora’s eyes fades, and when the mech is shut off and she sees Catra lounging on the floor like she meant to end up there, still laughing with mirth at Lonnie’s failure, Adora smiles towards her. For a moment, Catra lets her useless heart believe that Adora is breathless from the sight of her, gloating and content like they were in all their dreams together, and not just because of some stupid bot.

The next time they do the exercise, Catra is ready for it, and she ends up the next-to-last one standing – she takes a hit to protect Adora at the end. Adora stares at her, looking almost horrified as she goes sailing. She doesn’t look at her with that shining in her eyes like she had, for just a moment, at Lonnie.

The next day Catra scratches Lonnie over something petty and, true to her word just a few years ago, doesn’t apologize. If she did, then they would know why she was really mad at her.

\--

Seeing Force Captains at cadet training sessions is rare – usually it is just their instructors, or Shadow Weaver if they are really unlucky. This is a big exercise, though – a mock battle between all the cadet squads – and Shadow Weaver drawls in her patronizing way that they would be taking note of who came out on top.

The pair of overseeing Force Captains are two scorpion women. Older, though not old and gross like Shadow Weaver. Catra has only ever seen one other cadet like them in the Horde before, but she did not know much about her since she was a bit older than Catra and on the Force Captain track. Their squads didn’t really interact – she just knows of her enough to not be surprised by the sight of the two women. Adora, who has tunnel vision on her stupid Force Captain badge and has been training constantly, ignoring everything else, ignoring _Catra_ , gawks at the two of them.

“You think she can use the stinger? Like your claws? You think it’s _deadly_?” she gushes in a whisper to Catra. Catra flicks her ear against the rush of Adora’s breath on her fur. She doesn’t want it to stop – but it is too distracting and now is not the time. Not that Adora ever does the things she is desperate for when she wants or is ready for them – no, she would rather throw her a blinding smile when Catra was seconds away from cutting down a foe and distract her long enough for someone else to get a lucky shot in.

They end up doing better in the fight than Catra would have predicted – between not being allowed to use her claws on the other recruits, and Kyle dragging down their squad’s score by being one of the first ones out – they place best in their class. Shadow Weaver had – impossibly, Catra might add – expected them to place best overall, however.

She needles their failure in front of the whole room – all the other cadets _and_ the Force Captains, and Catra’s tail lashes back and forth as she contains her own rage. Shadow Weaver’s wrath is not even over – the next day she will dish out extra punishments for their failure away from prying eyes – but it is bad enough for the night.

Catra does not even pretend to climb into her own bunk that night. It is a pretense they started to put up years ago, when people (Shadow Weaver) first started calling them out on still sleeping in the same bed. Catra would always start the night in her bed, wait for lights out to be called, and when another cadet was in the middle of shifting, use the noise as cover to drop to the floor and curl up at the foot of Adora’s mattress. Everyone knew they did it – even Shadow Weaver – but the pretense and distance between them on the small bed seemed to keep them safe for now.

Catra’s _tired_. She has been called a failure in front of everyone she has ever known, with no chance to defend herself, and she just wants Adora to look at her. It does not even have to be that way – it is never in that way – but she needs comfort, and comfort is Adora.

She is curled up at the foot of Adora’s bed before Adora has sat to pull off her boots – before lights out and before even half the other cadets have found their beds. If any of them glance at her she raises her hackles, showing her fangs, and mouths _their_ scores at them across the charged space. It shuts them up – she had the third highest individual score in the entire test. Shadow Weaver still said she brought her team down.

Adora hovers by the side of her own bed, unsure of how to get it in with Catra already there, apparently. Or maybe unwilling – who wants to share a bed with a failure, anyway? Certainly not anyone trying to curry Shadow Weaver’s favour – not anyone smart trying to, at least.

But Catra is not moving. If Adora wants her to go she has to _say_ it. She curls in tighter, wrapping her arms around her knees to form a tight ball, ignoring the way it makes the bruises she picked up in the fight burn. Adora slides onto her bed, abandoning the sheet that Catra pins beneath her to lay on top of it herself, and settles on her side. They carefully do not touch – the lights are still on.

Catra watches, through one slit eye, as the room falls into order and cadets settle into their bunks. She waits, listening to the constant creaking and heavy steam movement of the Fright Zone, pipes wheezing, until the lights shut off on their automatic timer.

She unfurls, slightly, stretching out to wrap her tail around Adora’s ankle. A point of contact, that is all she needs, she tells herself.

Her face feels like it has been permanently burned in shame. Adora has not been spending what little free time they use to have with her anymore and maybe it is not just the Force Captain training – maybe she is finally done with her. Maybe she has finally decided she can find something better. Catra thinks back to the shining adoration on her face as she had stared at the scorpion woman’s tail.

So what if it was poisoned? She has a tail too. It probably is a hell of a lot more useful too – she bets the Force Captain can’t move hers like Catra can, can’t wrap it around Adora’s hands, wrists, throat if she has to in a fight. Bet she can’t even walk around without knocking things over with it.

Catra feels Adora shift, legs moving away, and desperately tugs with her (superior) tail to try and stop her from pulling away. She is rewarded by Adora completely ignoring her – as usual – and throwing her legs over the edge of the bed to leave.

Catra’s heart sinks – this really is it. Adora really cannot stand to be in the same bed with her anymore. She hears the soft impact of Adora’s bare feet on the floor, feels the paper-thin mattress shift as Adora’s weight leaves it. Part of her wants to spread out and lounge on the bed, give Adora a look that dares her to say anything – to say she wants her gone. The bigger part – and the part that actually wins – wants to curl into a ball so small she disappears.

She presses her face to her knees, struggling for breath but unable to untense, until she feels Adora’s hand on her shoulder. A moment later, Adora’s breath is tickling her ear and Catra suddenly can’t breathe for a very different reason.

“Our spot?” she asks, more of a breath than a whisper. Someone could overhear, probably does. They are already in trouble for the exercise, are going to be in more trouble for sharing a bed, and Catra can’t find a reason to say no, even in the middle of her (apparently needless) shame spiral.

The two girls sneak away, dodging patrolling bots and giggling as they make their way to their secret platform. By the time they reach it, the night has thoroughly fallen, and the only light is a thin sliver of moon in the pitch black sky and the ambient fires of the Fright Zone.  
“So today was bullshit,” is the first thing Catra says once they are alone, and Adora actually _laughs_. Catra watches her, drinking in every detail of her face. She has a new scar on the right arch of her upper lip – a blow to the face from a few weeks ago that luckily had not knocked out any teeth – but she looks like the same open and honest little girl that Catra first fell for.

They are not so little anymore. The weight of their duties hangs like a crushing burden even as they struggle for the air to laugh.

“Don’t listen to Shadow Weaver!” Adora consoles her, bumping their shoulders together. Catra leans into the contact as she gives a fake gasp.

“Adora, how dare you?” she drawls in her best, overblown Shadow Weaver impression. Adora laughs again. Catra could drown in her smile.

“We did really good, though!” Adora says, offering an encouraging smile to her before her face falls a little. “I mean, I know we didn’t place first, and Shadow Weaver was really expecting that. But it would have been so hard to when some of the squads have years on us! Still, I… could have done better. Should have done better. I need to train harder, I know. I’m sorry,” Adora chastises herself, turning away from Catra to look out over the billowing smoke of the Fright Zone. Catra’s heart breaks, anger rushing in to fill the gaps it leaves behind. She is mad at Shadow Weaver for setting them up to fail, at every other cadet for being a jackass in the battle and every minute of their lives leading up to it, and at _Adora_ for acting like her effort was the only one that mattered – that none of the rest of them made a difference.

“Adora, the whole squad is not riding on you. If anything, Kyle fucked up, like, a lot. Couldn’t go 30 seconds without taking a gut punch. Absolutely pathetic. You were…” Catra feels her face flush, struggling to come up with words that don’t lay her bare before Adora. She is still mad – she just got distracted thinking of the graceful arc Adora had cut through the crowd with her bo staff. She turns away from the other girl to follow her gaze out into nothing. If she looks at the dark clouds, she does not have to see Adora’s face. “You did really well out there,” she finishes lamely. Adora doesn’t say anything. She is not convinced – probably because Catra sucks at this – and all the laughter and joy that had managed to creep into her on their way here has evaporated.

It doesn’t matter if Catra is mad, or a failure, or Adora doesn’t want her back. She just misses seeing Adora smile.

“Besides,” she tries, knocking their shoulders together because no one is here to see them, “You had an unfair disadvantage.” Out of the corner of her eye, Catra sees Adora startle.

“What do you mean?” she asks, warily. Catra smirks out towards the night.

“Putting two strong women there to watch us, keeping an eye on our every move? You couldn’t have concentrated on anything else if you tried,” Catra jokes, ignoring the way it makes her stomach feel like lead. She knows her smirk is still in place – she has spent her entire life making sure it does not falter.

Beside her, Adora sputters in indignation for a solid twenty seconds. Catra relishes in it, in the blush climbing high up her cheeks as she fails to find words. Eventually, she gives up with a laugh. Catra feels all her fur stand on end, just a bit, as the sound rings through her again. It doesn’t help that Adora touches her again to shove her playfully.

“Shut _up_ ,” she huffs, breathless, and oh does Catra’s mind _wander_ at that sound, wanders to what Adora could do to shut her up right now – but Adora has to go and ruin the moment by continuing to talk. “I was just curious, is all! They must be pretty strong to be Force Captains. And I bet they have such a unique style of fighting, too!”

Adora is off, rambling about the two women, about being a Force Captain one day, about what her and Catra are going to do once they are the ones in charge, and Catra tries to let herself to enjoy it, and then tries to force herself to enjoy it, but she just feels hollow. Adora is sitting just a few inches from her, but there is a gap between them she could never be enough to cross – that Adora would never want her to try and cross anyway.

\--

The thing about Scorpia is that she tries really hard to not let Catra hate her. It is another thing Catra (tries to) hate about her.

The _problem_ with Scorpia, is that she has two major shortcomings Catra can’t ignore, even if she was not trying to keep everyone at arm’s length from her heart. It does not matter how much the other woman tries to befriend her, Catra is not taking that risk ever again, especially not on someone who is Adora’s _type_.

Because yes, Adora has a Type. One Catra can never hope to fill. Strong and buff, capable of carrying any weight, bearing any blow. Tall and indomitable, in a way Catra will never be – not at 18, done growing and the fluff of her hair barely allowing her to equal Adora’s height before she puts her boots on. And worst of all, Catra’s come to realize, _dependable_. Someone who you can trust to take care of things. Catra has tried, tried so _hard_ to protect Adora, but she was never granted that power. Not by the unseen forces of the universe and certainly not by the Horde. During Thaymor she had ripped apart a net trapping her with sheer adrenaline, trying desperately to free herself so she could save Adora, but it didn’t matter, because Adora didn’t want to be saved. Adora didn’t need her – to save her, or even to rely on.

And Scorpia, unfortunately, checks all those boxes. She stands at Catra’s shoulder as a glaring reminder of everything she is not and can never be – never wanted to be until she realized it might be her only chance with Adora. A strong, proven Force Captain with looks, and strength, and height. On top of it all, she is kind in a way Catra could never be. Which leads to Scorpia's second shortcoming: She is also too much _like_ Adora.

Scorpia is kind, and understanding, and warm in way nothing is in the Fright Zone. The Fright Zone has two settings: cold, hard steel or the burning heat of flame and steam. It can be felt in the horrid, stinging showers they have blocked into their schedules, in the cold rations they get served at meals, in the pads of Catra’s feet as she moves from cold metal corridors to searing patches hiding overworked machinery. Scorpia, like Adora, radiates a warmth that Catra has no name for, since only two people in the entire Fright Zone have ever possessed it.

Kindness. Something more, something she can’t name but used to feel from Adora, now feels directed at herself whenever Scorpia enters the room. She doesn’t know what makes these gentle people follow her, the most broken person in the entire Horde, doesn’t know why Scorpia cannot just _leave her alone_ to mourn Adora.

Scorpia tries, every day, chipping away at her shell, and Catra ignores the cracks appearing in her hull, because she would rather sink in Adora’s sea than admit she is taking on water.

\--

Catra has not felt rage like this since she was a child. By the time she was a teenager she had at least somewhat better control of her emotions, but Adora leaving shattered all the progress that she had made – that Adora had helped her make, together. She has been angrier before, certainly, but it never _felt_ like this. It makes her claws come out in sense-memory, slashing straight through the wall to her left as she pants. Carefully, she straightens and ignores the way Scorpia is staring at her. She does not want to know if there is fear or adoration in Scorpia’s eyes – neither is her problem. With great effort, she retracts her claws, picks up the data pad she had dropped on the floor, and stalks away from the room.

She walks with confidence, long strides carrying her through the halls mindlessly until she has almost arrived at her destination and realizes where, exactly, she had been heading. She wants to smash the data pad again, but she cannot stand to lose the footage, and so forces herself to keep walking. Carefully, she climbs the ladder to their abandoned lookout.

She collapses on the floor, leaning her back against the rail and staring up at the smog-filled sky. Her eyes are burning – it is from the pollution, nothing more. Her mind is silent – her heart is screaming. Slowly, her chin drops to her chest. She did not tell it to. Distantly, she watches her hand come up to wake the data pad’s screen and hit replay.

It is footage from a spy drone, snuck into a small camp Adora and her stupid Rebellion had set up on their way to try and take back one of the towns the Horde has conquered. Catra could not give less of a shit about losing the town – what makes her furious is the footage of Adora practice sparring with an unknown woman. Tall, maybe even taller than She-ra. Buff, ridiculously so. Deep, purple skin with scars to prove the battles she has won. And from the looks of her fighting style, ex-Horde on top of it all. For a moment, the spar backs close enough to make out the taunts the two toss back and forth as they train.

The beginning of the jeer is lost in the scrambling as Adora rolls in the dirt, regaining her footing from the short throw the other woman had sent her in. It doesn’t matter what is said - Catra’s stupid, lovesick heart jumps when she hears it ends in in a name ending with “-ra.” The jeer must have been a challenge, because the woman calls back “I’ll do one better than that, blondie,” before charging at Adora again. In the distance of the footage, Catra notes numbly, she can see the sparkles princess and Crop Top leaning over a map, facing the sparring duo but ignoring them completely, as if this is a perfectly regular occurrence.

She and Adora used to do that. Fight, tussle, spar together. Any chance for Catra to touch her without questions, without guilt. They were making each other better, and she got to be closer to Adora for only a moment. Now, she has found someone new. Someone with her same newfound _morals_ apparently, with all the physical features Catra can never have, and has all the familiarity and history of the Horde that Catra does – the only thing she had going for her compared to her little Rebellion friends.

Catra watches the footage, feeling a hatred of the other woman building in her in a way she usually reserves for Shadow Weaver. The wind is howling in her ears, though her mane isn’t moving around her shoulders, so it might just be her anger. She can hear tension cracks forming from how tightly she grips the pad’s screen, but she cannot look away. Eventually, Adora banters with the other woman within earshot of the drone again, and Catra learns her name.

 _Huntara_. Catra just might kill her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the scorpion women are Scorpia’s moms. They seem to be dead by the time canon comes, but were once part of the Horde, and knowing Adora’s "type" I thought they would fit well. Also how many of these were actual crushes and not just Catra projecting?? Who can say.


	2. Adora

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out about 200% angstier and longer than I intended but I regret nothing. I kept going back and adding more scenes. I was going to edit it down, but what the hell, I wrote it and I didn't notice any typos, so have at it.

Adora is young and she wants to follow Catra _everywhere_. The problem with that is Adora is short, and soft, and a bit clumsy, whereas Catra is compact, sharp, and sure-footed. She can climb anything with the help of her stature and claws and loves to curl up in hidden corners only she can reach. She doesn’t do it to leave Adora behind – she wants to follow Adora around just as much, she told her so – but sometimes she needs to hide out from Shadow Weaver or another cadet for a bit. Adora just wishes she would go somewhere she could follow.

Which leads to her current problem. She is – she’s a bit stuck. She has no idea how to get down. She had been trying to reach Catra, tucked up in the small space between the top of a steam pipe and the ceiling, but she had only managed to climb halfway up the wall before she had gotten stuck on a different pipe, running horizontally, with no way to continue her climb without claws to dig in or the added grip of fur. She also could not very well get down without at least spraining something, and if she requires healing again, she knows Shadow Weaver is going to do something to either her or Catra in retaliation. She stands on tip toes, whining softly in her contemplation, unsure what to do. Catra stares up at her, having jumped effortlessly down to the floor to show Adora the path, but she just _can’t_. It is a path that Catra can take, but Adora would never make it past the first step without plummeting.

“Come on, Adora, we’re going to be late!” Catra tries to urge her, frustration clear. She just doesn’t _get it_. Catra is so capable, so unique, she just can’t see that Adora can’t do the things she does. Adora just isn’t always strong enough, or light enough, or smart enough to find the path and follow.

“I’ll fall!” Adora calls back, pasting herself back against the wall. Why Catra had chosen one of the foundries to curl up in, with their two-story ceilings and blistering heat, Adora will never know. Her palms are sweating, the gap between her and the floor is immense, and Catra is clearly getting frustrated.

“Why did you come up if you can’t get down?” she demands, stomping a little as her tail lashes back in forth.

“Because- because I wanted to be with you,” Adora stammers. Catra’s tail goes still. “What Lonnie said was mean and she didn’t mean it, but she still said it and you needed to know she was wrong,” Adora gushes out. She feels her foot slip a little, startles as she struggles to regain her footing. When she can risk tearing her gaze away from the ledge again Catra is staring at her, stock still. Adora stares back, knows her fear is on her face, and wonders which one of them will get in more trouble for this. Wonders if the penalty for being late would be worse than the penalty for jumping down in time and needing medical attention.

“Hold still,” Catra growls, clenching her fists before she approaches the wall again, scaling it effortlessly as she swings between pipes, valve handles, and bracketing repurposed as her personal footholds. She reaches Adora’s ledge in just a few seconds and Adora stares at her in awe. Catra reaches for her, and Adora follows her hand blindly. She takes hold of it, lets Catra wrap it around her shoulders before wrapping one of her own arms around Adora’s waist.

“Hold on tight, okay?” Catra asks her.

“Wait, what are y-“ Adora gets cut off by a terrified squeal as Catra places her free hand on the edge of the pipe and then swings them over the edge. Her claws dig into the wall, slowing their descent as she pushes off to catch another pipe, forward momentum carrying them in a graceful arc toward the floor. Catra tucks them in, rolling them both against the flooring as they land. The impact hurts, will definitely leave bruises tomorrow, but who is to say where she picked those up from?

Adora turns to look up at Catra. Catra is slowly extricating herself from Adora’s grip, standing over her, panting, a bit sweaty, grinning. Adora’s throat feels tight as Catra reaches a hand down to her. “Hey, Adora, come on. We need to get going,” she says, laughter and light in her eyes – at the adrenaline rush, or the dumbstruck look on Adora’s face, she doesn’t know.

“Y- yeah,” Adora stutters out, taking Catra’s hand as the younger girl’s muscles flex in her arm, tugging her up with them. Adora stumbles a bit on her feet and doesn’t let go of Catra’s hand until the other girl is pulling away, walking on towards the mess hall like she hadn’t just pulled out an act of superhuman ability.

\--

If Adora had to pick one word to describe Catra, she realizes one day in their teenage years, she would pick _dangerous_. It encompasses so much of her.

Catra has always been sneaky, agile and silent since birth. A natural predator in her footsteps alone. Sometimes she gets a smirk that is borderline feral and knocks Adora’s breath away. On the battlefield – or rather, in the training simulation, same difference – she is a force of nature, when she cares to be. Adora watches her cut down bots, tearing through them with claws and fierceness in a way that makes Adora weak at the knees, left with nothing to do but send weak smiles Catra’s way when she catches her looking. Just a teammate admiring another’s prowess.

But there is something more to it that Adora cannot quite put her finger on. Because this danger, whatever it is, extends beyond battle – in her cunning remarks, quick wit, brilliant pranks and brilliant battleplans. It extends beyond even the war. As she grows, slow and steady unlike Adora’s own unruly spurt shortly after Lonnie’s, she comes into her body. Adora doesn’t know how she does it, but sometimes Catra walks with a sway to her hips that draws Adora in like a siren’s song, makes Adora want to chase after her and lay her hands there just to stop their movement. Her tail will brush along Adora’s arm as she walks by and make her breath stutter. Catra will laugh, a low chuckle just for her and Adora, a flash of her fangs against her bottom lip as she gives a crooked smirk, and Adora _wants_.

Wanting is dangerous.

Sometimes Adora tries to pull back, but every time she finds her eyes lingering on Catra as she slinks about the Fright Zone, gate purposeful even when her path leads her nowhere, and Adora wants nothing more than to be wherever she is going – to be the location that Catra’s feet carry her towards.

But Adora has duties, and responsibilities, and if she does not fulfill them, she will never get a chance to follow after Catra in her game of Cat and Mouse.

Funny, Adora muses to herself, how she is the one giving chase, and yet she is the mouse.

\--

It is not like Adora had not known, deep down. She wanted Catra, in a way she could never have. There are words for it, here in Bright Moon. Love. Desire. Soulmates and sex. Adora reads the definitions, the books Bow recommends her when she asks about the intricacies of daily life away from war, but none of it seems to be about _Catra_.

Catra is so much more than these simple words and definitions. Nothing Adora finds accounts for the way she struggles to breathe, alone at night without Catra in her bed, or the deep-seated ache when she sees Catra on the other side of the battlefield. There are words like love, but they don’t seem enough when Adora wakes up, gasping from a dream that was only a nightmare because the way Catra looked at her, _touched_ her during it wasn’t real – never had been, never would be.

Why would Catra follow her? What had Adora managed to give Catra, to earn her love? Adora had pushed her away for fear of her feelings, been too weak to not pull her back in when she tried, failed to show her what the Horde was doing was wrong. Failed to show her she would hurt people if she stayed. And now Catra was sinking deeper in the quicksand because Adora had failed to pull her out.

At night, when she cannot sleep, or has already tried and been roused by soft looks, soft fur, soft hands that _aren’t real_ , Adora wonders where the moment in time was to show Catra that she is more important than the Horde’s designs for her – that leaving would have been the best risk she could ever take. Every time she tries, Adora finds a new moment to turn things around, to make things right, but in the end, she always falls back to one.

The night she snuck out of the barracks, leaving Catra behind instead of bringing her with her. Determined not to get her in any more trouble, Adora had forgotten their cardinal rule: Catra was the hunter, Adora was the prey - and yet Adora was to give chase, not the other way around.

And now, the roles are the same – she is the mouse, chasing after her hunter with suicidal intent. The difference is Adora knows, now, when Catra catches her, it will never be with a kiss.

It does not matter. Her pursuit remains relentless.

\--

Sometimes, when Adora is feeling particularly masochistic, on nights when She-ra had gotten injured and now her body aches with the ghosts of wounds that don’t exist, Adora relives Princess Prom to give herself a source for her pain.

Every second of the night felt like a joke the universe was playing on her. Already a nerve-wracking, horrible proposition to go to a ball – and then Catra enters the room.

When she first sees her, Adora thinks her nightmares have finally evolved into hallucinations. But even in her wildest dreams, Adora would not let herself picture _this_. Could not have imagined the cut of that suit as Catra slinks through the crowd. Even in her nightmares, she does not torture herself – not until tonight, that is – with the image of Catra on another woman’s arm. Adora recognizes the woman, vaguely, but never before has she felt this angry heat about another person – a person she does not even know the name of. Adora insists they split up to track their targets because Adora cannot stand to be near whoever this replacement is. Strong, capable, looking totally at home in a dress that hugs her body. Adora, already awkward in her hastily borrowed dress, feels small and inadequate, confused and adrift.

It is not until that moment, watching Catra slink through the ice palace on another woman’s arm, that Adora considers the fact she might have lost her for good – that there is nothing she can say to bring Catra home.

She feels – she feels angry, and it scares her, because Adora is frustrated often. She gets annoyed and she can be passive aggressive when she wants to. Despair, even, is something she is familiar with. But anger? Pure, uncut hatred for another? She has never felt it before. It makes her veins feel like ice and her skin feel like fire. She wonders if this is what Shadow Weaver feels like all the time – if this is how Catra would feel, back when they were kids and the smallest thing would make her lash out.

As she follows Catra around the ball, she begins to fear it is how Catra feels about her now.

Catra is confident. Smug. Reveling in a chaos that Adora can’t see yet but knows is coming. Deadly and capable here in this foreign terrain. She is everything Adora spent years being breathless over. But there is none of that spark in her eye that tells her it is just a game. Instead, a smolder burns behind the surface of her crooked grin. One of her fangs glints as she turns away from Adora, slinking through the crowd.

Like always, Adora gives chase. She feels frozen in place, weak-kneed and dumbfounded before Catra. The fire of her anger is the only thing that keeps her moving through the frozen halls.

Nothing, nothing is worse than Catra holding her close during the dance. Nothing will feature in Adora’s nightmares like the way her heart thuds too loudly as Catra’s hand grips her waist, claws just barely digging into her skin beneath the fabric of her dress. Adora will never be able to face the flush in her skin as she realizes she let her leg come up to cradle between Catra’s thighs as she dips her, or the sudden douse of ice at Catra’s words as she realizes she is too late, and Bow is gone.

Adora has never felt anger like this before. She uses it to mobilize her frozen body, and it uses her, dominating her in response.

\--

Adora gets swept up in Huntara’s presence when they first meet, blind to the game she runs. It bites her in the ass, like all her poorly-thought-out decisions do, but eventually she is able to match step-for-step with the older woman.

It isn’t until later, until Huntara is agreeing to help the Princess Alliance, that Adora realizes it was a dance she has done before. There is no part of Adora that wants to pursue Huntara – it is never a thought that even crosses her mind for a moment – but her presence does make her realize that Adora has a _type_.

Dangerous. Stubborn. Clawed her way through hell to get where she is now – even if it is just a few feet closer to the way out, or to the throne. Vicious and cunning when she has to be, and headstrong, too. But still, despite it all, soft. Catra huddled with Adora on their little getaway platform, giggling with each other to forget their scars. Huntara showing her how to wrap an injury on the field. It is the similarities that drive a stake through Adora’s heart because it reminds her of all the things she misses about Catra. The duality of a being dangerous and kind, swift and stubborn, headstrong and broken. Adora loves the Princesses, loves everyone in the Rebellion, but no one will understand what she and Catra went through, not even the other Horde cadets, because they went through it together. Adora’s type cannot be summed up in one word like _deadly_ or even a few like _capable, confident, kind_. No, Adora’s type has always just been _Catra_.

They came out the other side standing only because they each had the other. Adora wonders which one of them will be the first to fall now. She hopes it is her. She cannot stand to lose Catra again.

Adora realizes all these things, and never says a word about them. She lets them fester and tear up her insides. Her ultimate weakness, hidden away from the world. It was never going to be an ancient tech virus that brought She-ra down, but a mangy stray, brought to her doorstep in a cardboard box.

She keeps her love locked away, in the little cage she made for it all those years ago when she realized, whatever she felt for Catra, it was forbidden in the Fright Zone. If the Rebellion found out how she feels about Catra… She knows they are her friends – but she also knows now what can happen to a friendship when tested.

\--

The biggest joke in Adora’s life – and Catra’s, she muses one day – is that everyone else knows. That all the times Adora drops everything to chase after Catra like she is her oxygen told more than Adora’s words ever could. That the way she fanned the flames of her anger when Catra would act out on the battlefield, catching her attention from whatever she was supposed to be doing, could never make rage burn brighter than her love for the little girl she used to shudder together with in the shadows of the Fright Zone.

The biggest joke on her is that nothing, not bloodshed, or battle, or the _portal_ , could make Adora forget the girl she grew up with. Who cared fiercely, loved whole-heartedly, even if she hid it – even if it wasn’t the way Adora wanted her to. And nothing could make Adora forgive herself for leaving that scared girl behind when she asked, because she had left her to die. Catra stood, in place of the Catra that once was, a piece of broken pottery glued back together and trying, desperately, to be the same shape as she had first been molded. And despite it all, Adora loves this Catra, too. Because she knows where she comes from, why she is the way she is.

The biggest secret, Adora supposes, is that she does not want Catra to be that shape again, just _whole_.

\--

Catra’s face shows cracks, sometimes. Her expression will falter, her ears drop or her tail stills. Adora tries not to show cracks in return – show how much it hurts her to see Catra in distress. The pain will be there regardless, just like the ghosts of She-ra’s healed wounds, but she does not want to hurt Catra with her own reflected pain. Not when she just got her back.

There has always been a space between them. Inches or feet, never further, easily bridged with a play shove or a flick of Catra’s tail. Now the gap feels immeasurable, even though Adora can see Catra is doing everything in her power to either pretend it doesn’t exist, or alternatively that _Adora_ doesn’t exist.

It takes a few days, a week maybe, between rescuing Catra from Prime and returning to Etheria. In that time, Adora has never felt so desperate, but she also has not felt so whole in years. Not since she left Catra’s side, and Catra did not follow.

Every time there is a lull in conversation, a momentary distraction where Catra won’t catch her looking, she stares.

She wants. She hates herself for it. It should be enough to have Catra on the ship, talking to her again, _trying_ for her. But then Catra’s tail will flick, like she is about to reach across the distance between them with a gentle caress, and Adora will catch her breath until the moment passes and the touch does not come. She knows she is obvious. Bow and Glimmer send her side-long glances, almost pitying looks at times. Adora does not care. She is long past being sorry she loves Catra – now she is just sorry she could never show it, that Catra could never love her back after everything between them.

She pushes through her pain. As much as Catra sometimes needs to vanish into the bowels of the ship, so does Adora. She collapses to the floor, back pressed against whatever hard surface will take her weight, arms wrapped tight around herself like it will hold back the terrible greed inside of her. Memories will wash over her – lingering childhood touches in the Fright Zone, charged brushes in the middle of the war, imagined softness surrounding her in her dreams.

Catra was never hers to have. She was always Catra’s, not the other way around. But Catra is changing, and as beautiful as it is, it also means she is done hunting. And Adora, unsure of what will happen when she finally catches up, is stuck at a standstill.

Glimmer finds her like this, frozen with her face pressed to her knees like Catra used to do when they were younger, before they learned to clutch each other rather than themselves. She does not cry, but she gasps softly as she tries to force herself to stop forcing her feelings on Catra. It is not fair to either of them.

Life has never been fair to either of them.

Glimmer holds her, tight. Asks her if anything happened. There is an edge of trepidation there.

“Was it Catra?” she asks. _Did she hurt you?_ she doesn’t say, but Adora hears it anyway. She shakes her head.

“I just… it’s too much,” is all Adora can manage, because she can’t say the words, even if Glimmer knows them by now.

_I love her. She resents me. She is learning and growing but we’ll never be what I want us to._

The world is ending, and Adora’s hung up on her own emotions. She hates herself for it.

She has learned, since Princess Prom, that she does feel anger and hatred. But always – almost always – they are directed at herself.

Glimmer holds her until she can get ahold of herself, and Adora apologizes. Glimmer doesn’t like it when Adora apologizes “for having feelings”, she has made herself clear on that, but this time she just lets her. Adora is thankful for that.


	3. Epilogue

Catra is an idiot. All those years, all those longing stares and hollow nights, alone in her stupid Force Captain quarters, just wasted time. Sand through her fingers – pain inflicted not on her by someone else, but _by_ her because of someone else.

Catra is trying not to get mad so much anymore. She is working on it. So far, that has not extended to anger directed at herself. Sometimes, at night when she manages to startle from a nightmare without waking Adora, or in the evening when she actually has the spare time to be consumed by her raging thoughts, she finds it hard to breathe with how angry and disappointed she feels in herself. Trapped in the cycle of violence she perpetuated against not only others, but against herself.

“You’re still perpetuating it against yourself when you have these thoughts,” Perfuma had pointed out to her, not unkindly, when Catra had confessed _why_ she was asking after her advice on meditation – if it could help her calm her mind.

And she is right, Catra knows. That does not mean she can stop it anymore now than she could over all those years. Cannot yet walk away from her own self hatred any more than she could have walked away from the Horde. But now, at least, she has the care of others to soothe her. Guide her.

Adora’s love is something Catra has spent her entire life wanting, desperately, and yet it is nothing like she expected. Mostly because, if she is honest with herself – and she is working on doing that, now – she never thought even if she got Adora’s love that she deserved a love like this.

“It is not about deserving,” Adora growls, once, when Catra whispers this confession to her late at night. Catra is left frozen in shock by the strength of Adora’s convictions for her. “You already have my love. You always have. Just… treat it well,” Adora had pleaded, quiet and scared.

They both were scared. They both had demons in their heads – put there by the same people, but clamouring in different ways – that told them this was short-lived. This moment of happiness was not for them – not for people like them.

“Fuck Shadow Weaver,” Catra says, out of nowhere one night, while she watches Adora’s body relax into sleep. Adora startles alert with a laugh, struggling to sit up a little so she can gaze up at Catra, the smaller girl propped up on her elbows to watch Adora sleep.

“What was that for?” Adora asks, amusement dancing in her eyes. Shadow Weaver is a touchy subject – for most everyone who has met her, it seems – but the sentiment needed to be said.

“For everything,” Catra says, simply, because it is true. She presses forward, kissing Adora with enough force she goes sprawling onto her back. Adora chuckles for a moment, then gasps as Catra nips at her bottom lip.

Catra spent her whole life in fear. Looking only for the way the deck was stacked against her – because with Shadow Weaver, it always was – instead of noticing the positives. She found Adora’s attempts at protecting her to be patronizing, a sign she thought she could not handle herself, rather than recognizing them as a show of her love. It is what Shadow Weaver wanted her to see – wanted her to feel – and she refuses to feel it now.

Every dumb crush Adora had over the years, every one of them fleeting – because her heart has always belonged to Catra, suck it everyone else – Catra had focused on every difference between her and the newest girl, never able to see the similarities.

“It was people who… who had strength. Not… not muscles. I mean, you are ridiculously strong under all this fur, don’t get me wrong,” Adora starts to ramble in her explanation, hands wandering up Catra’s arms, down her back, over her thighs.

“Adora, focus,” she gasps against the other girl’s neck.

“Right,” Adora corrects herself, retreating her hands to the relative safety of Catra’s hips. “I wasn’t really looking at anyone but you, Catra. But when I did, however briefly, it was always because something about them reminded me of you. They seemed powerful, dangerous like you were to me. They reminded me of your ferocity, your brilliance, your stubbornness, your – Oh,” Adora cuts off as Catra nips at her collarbone, not able to take it anymore. Adora cannot just _say_ things like that and not expect her to pin her to the mattress.

“I do have one protest, though,” Adora gasps, her own hands wandering back down across Catra’s body as she pulls her closer. Catra gives a small, inquisitive trill that will never be heard by anyone but Adora, and never outside the safety of this bed.

“I never, not even for two minutes and thirty seconds or whatever, had a crush on Lonnie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little light note to tie together all that pining. These two won't stop fooling around in my head, rent free, so you guys have to deal with them, too. Sorry ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
